A Human Touch
by Zion Angel
Summary: Though she has no memories, Belle goes with Rumpelstiltskin to search for his son. One particularly cold night, he draws her a bath to warm her up after a long day, and his gentle, casual touches inflame something in her. She wonders if, perhaps, her body remembers something that her mind does not. - Continuation of "A Single Step." AU beginning midway through 2x12. Part 2 rated M.


Belle follows Rumple into the hotel room, still shivering even though she is indoors and still wrapped in her coat. After another day of searching the streets of New York City for Baelfire, the winter cold has chilled her to the bone, her many layers not enough to fully defend against the winter winds. She immediately goes to the little box on the wall, trying to warm up the room, but she can't quite remember how to make it work.

Rumpelstiltskin shrugs off his coat and blazer and hangs them up. His carefully removes his son's scarf, and gently folds it and places it in a drawer. He comes up behind her and tries to pull her coat away, but she clutches it around herself.

"Are you all right, Belle?" he asks, lines of worry creasing his face.

"Just – cold," she explains, nodding helplessly at the little box. He quickly presses the little buttons, and she hears the faint sound of the heater turning on. The task done, eh pays closer attention to her, and she blushes and looks down as she realizes she is shivering just the tiniest bit.

"Belle," he murmurs, one warm hand slipping under the many layers of sleeves to wrap around her wrist, the other sneaking beneath her scarf to her neck. She gasp as his warm fingers touch her cool skin, the sensation making her heart jump before he pulls his hands away. Somehow it leaves her feeling even colder than before. "Why didn't you tell me you weren't warm enough? I'd have brought you back here."

And that, she thinks silently and with a touch of bitterness, is precisely why she didn't tell him. They – he – has made it this far, and he is finally _looking_ for his son after 28 years of a curse and centuries of planning, as hard as it still is to wrap her head around the idea. There is no telling if the boy is an adult now, safe and warm in a home of his own, or if he is still only a 14-year-old child, cold and alone and barely surviving on the cold winter streets. Had she asked him to bring her back, every minute he spent bringing her here would have been a minute not searching, and it may well have stretched into a full day if he had decided, not for the first time, that he needed to stay with her and watch over her for the rest of the day. Every day that she stayed in the hotel instead of joining him in his search was a little less effort that went into finding Bae – for all that the world still confuses her, with her almost total lack of knowledge of it, she has been helping in the search and making herself useful. A day spent shivering is a price she's more than willing to pay to find a son who might desperately need his father.

"It's fine. I'm fine. I'm just a little cold," she assures him, trying not to shiver. "It's nothing serious."

She can't quite meet his eyes as he scrutinizes her face, looking wholly unbelieving of her assertion. There is a faint touch of guilt in his eyes, like he thinks he did this to her, forced her to leave Storybrooke and come here and spend day after endless day searching through teen shelters and public records and ominous alleyways and consulting private detectives. As if he still has some notion that she has let anyone else decide anything for her.

But then as quickly as it came, the guilt leaves him, and his face lights up with an idea. "Here, come with me," he says, his hand finding the small of her back and urging her to follow him. She can only feel his touch faintly through her many layer of clothing, but somehow the small contact captures her attention so much so that she only realizes she has moved at all when he takes the hand away, and she finds herself standing in the bathroom.

Here again, he moves to fiddle with a box on the wall, with many complex buttons that she doesn't understand (so far, she has only mastered the art of turning the lights on and off). A second light comes on, just above her head, and unlike the others which are nearly cool to the touch, this one is instantly warm, and standing beneath it she already feels the tip of her nose beginning to thaw. "There are heaters beneath the floor," he mutters, taking a towel from the shelf. "They'll make the tiles warm against your feet. And this will heat up the towel so it's nice and warm when you're done." He drapes the fluffy white towel over an odd metal bar, bent in a zig-zag shape, before he sits down on the closed toilet seat.

"Done with what?"

He grins at her, then reaches to turn on the water in the shower. But instead of pulling the little lever like he showed her when they first arrived, he rolls up his sleeves and reaches down to press the little silver circle in the bottom. The basin quickly begins filling with water, and some part of her mind identifies this as a bath.

"This will warm you up straight away," he says, smiling. He reaches for one of the tiny bottles by the sink, and pours the entire thing into the stream of running water. The water quickly fills with bubbles. Belle moves closer to watch, fascinated, while he stands carefully and eases her jacket off of her shoulders. He helps her out of her scarf, gloves, sweaters, shoes, until all she's wearing is her blouse, pants and socks. He fishes two small bands from the little bag they keep beside the sink and her brush, and quickly straightens out her hair and pulls it back into a bun. The water and bubbles are halfway up the side of the tub by now.

"Why don't you, ah," he stammers, picking up her things and trying to hold his cane at the same time. "Why don't you take off the rest and get in while I go hang these up, and then I'll come back for the rest. And don't worry, I won't be able to see – anything… with the bubbles." He gestures at the tub, a little nervous and flustered and perhaps just a little bit disappointed. He leaves the room quickly, closing the door securely behind him.

More cold than confused, Belle slips off the rest of her underthings, shivering as she folds them neatly and leaves them on the counter. She stares at the small pile for a moment, then takes the bra and panties off the top and tucks them between the blouse and pants, hidden from sight.

She hurries to the tub and slips into the water as quickly as she can without slipping. She squeaks in surprise as the hot water hits her skin all at once, almost too hot, but within moments the warmth seeps into her body, and she moans as she sinks in deeper.

The tub is big enough that she can stretch out, her knees only slightly bent, and as the water level rises, it reaches all the way up to her neck, surrounding her with blessed, wonderful heat. She wiggles a little, feeling the water touch every inch of her skin all at once, marveling at the strange but pleasant sensation.

A gentle knock at the door startles her out of her reverie. "Belle?" Rumpel calls. "Can I come in?"

"Yes," she calls back, shyly sinking a bit deeper beneath the bubbles. He comes in, only glancing at her as he brings a white robe and hangs it just beside the tub.

"You can put this on once you dry off. And this will be nice and warm once you're done." He points to the draped over the strange contraption earlier. "Be sure to turn the water off when the tub is full enough. If it gets cool you can drain the tub a bit and add more hot water. You just use that little silver thing in the bottom – press one side the drain opens, press the other it closes again." He looks around the room nervously, still not looking _at_ her, and reaches for her clothes. "Just call for me if you need me –"

"Wait," she says softly, and he immediately falls silent, turning to her. She forces herself to meet his eyes, and takes a deep breath to summon her courage. "Stay. Please?" He seems about to object – she has grown _quite_ familiar with that look in their time together – but she presses her advantage, acts as brave as she can. "Can't we just… talk?"

He closes his mouth, swallows, and finally nods. He sets her clothes down again, closes the door again, and sits again on the closed toilet lid. He fidgets with his cane, still not looking at her, as if determined to honor her privacy even though neither of them can see any of her beneath the thick layer of bubbles.

They've talked some in the few weeks they've spent out in the world together. Not extensively, but not infrequently either. He's told her about his son, about the world they once came from, about this world, and how it all came to be mixed up into one grand, complicated journey. He does most of the talking, as she has no memories on which to draw. He tells her little about herself the woman he knew before that night. He mentions bare facts occasionally, his voice full of emotion. He told her that, as frightening as the world may seem, she is one of the bravest people he has ever known. He told her that he owed her his soul, that if it were not for her he would have given into the darkness a hundred times over. He told her that she loved him, and wanted him to be a better man. But each time, he told her only that small bit of information before falling silent, his eyes filling with sadness and guilt, and said nothing more about it. Sometimes she wonders what she was like before, who she is supposed to be, but despite her curiosity, she is glad that she doesn't push, doesn't try to force her to be a woman she doesn't even know. He hasn't told her much about himself, either, beyond what is necessary to explain the rest of it. She wonders if he thinks she wouldn't like him, if she knew more about him.

The minutes stretch on in silence, and he seems to have no more idea what to say than she does. She bites her lip and leans back in the tub, trying to find a comfortable way to rest her head back, and finding only hard marble instead.

"Here, let me," he says, eager for something to fill the silence. He reaches for one of the small towels and folds it just so. Then he reaches for her, his hands gently brushing her scalp as he lifts her head and places the makeshift towel beneath her. Just as suddenly, his fingers are gone, and a shiver runs through her despite the warmth of the water.

She watches as he sits back again, still fidgety and uncertain. A bit of curiosity strikes her, and she tilts her head, trying to measure his mood. "How did we meet? The first time, I mean."

He stares at her, startled, like he forgot she was there. He swallows a little and studies the engraving on the head of his cane.

"It was back in the other world, right?" she presses, and he nods, but doesn't seem particularly inclined to elaborate. She chews her lip, and takes a deep breath. "I'd like to hear about it. Please?"

He finally meets her eyes. His are sad and nervous, but resigned, much as they were when she told him she wanted to join him on the journey to find his son, and he realized there was no getting out of this. He's nervous, doesn't want to tell her the story, but he sighs all the same. "You were… about twenty, I suppose. I told you about my abilities and… reputation in the old world." She nods, angling her head on the little pillow to watch him better.

"Your father was a knight, in charge of a small and rather isolated village. You two were the highest royalty in the area. Functionally you were more like a princess."

"Really?" she asks, smiling. He nods, the corner of his own lip turning up.

"Your town had gotten itself mixed up in a rather messy war with ogres, and you had very little hope for survival. You called on me to protect your town."

"How bad was it? That they were desperate enough to call you? You said you didn't have a very good reputation then…"

"_Very_ desperate. Many people had died and I understand your father had tried everything else he could think of. And _they_ didn't summon me," he corrects, meeting her eyes, stray bits of hair obscuring his face. "_You_ summoned me."

"I did?"

He smiles a little, nodding. "As I said. You are quite brave."

_Are_. Not _were_.

"In any case, I was… _quite_ fond of such desperation. It made it very easy to get what I wanted in exchange." She wants to ask what he wanted in exchange for their protection, but she sees him struggling to get the words out. Struggling to be honest with her. So she waits, and despite the itch to know, lets him take his time. "I was also… quite lonely. I had a rather large estate all to myself, and I only saw other people when I needed something from them."

A little piece of her heart breaks for him, the quiet sadness in his voice.

"I thought perhaps if I had someone else around, someone I could see and talk to each day, even if it was just a maid, would make things a little easier." He sighs heavily, staring at the floor. "My price, for protecting your village, was that you come live with me. Forever."

"Oh…"

He shakes his head. "Your father didn't want you to go, nor… nor did your betrothed." He glances at her just enough to see her eyes widen. "An arranged marriage, no need to worry. In any case, both of them ordered me to leave. They weren't willing to trade you, even though it meant they would all surely die. And then you… you called out for me to wait… and you agreed to my terms. No questions asked, no hesitation, just… held your head up high, looked me in the eye and said you would go with me."

He watches her for a moment, his eyes locked on hers, as if looking for something buried deep inside her soul. "I knew you were desperate enough, and you were the type of person willing to sacrifice yourself for the good of others, but… even then you surprised me. You were probably the bravest person I had ever met. Even in the castle, I could see you were afraid – I _wanted_ you to be afraid of me – but you just pulled through it, and did what you have to do. And even while you were afraid of me it wasn't… in the same way that other people were. Different, somehow, I don't know."

"Then what?" she urges gently, letting her voice praise his openness and honesty.

"I'm really not sure. I never really could understand it. You got settled into the castle, we found a routine. I expected you would be spiteful, hate me for stealing you away. But it was all right, even that would ease the loneliness. I think you wanted to see the good in me, and eventually you found it. No one else would have bothered to look. No one else would have believed there _was_ anything good in me. But you… you were you."

He turns the cane slowly in his hands. "We fell for each other, in time. I was afraid, and I didn't know what to do, so I kept you at arm's length. Finally I couldn't do that to you anymore. I told you you were free to go. You were _going_ to go home but then… well, I have plenty of enemies, and one got to you on the road. She convinced you to come back to me and break my curse. Save me from it. But you didn't know that it was my curse that gave me my powers, or that I needed them to find my son, because, coward that I am, I didn't tell you. Even when you asked. You kissed me, because true love's kiss can break any curse, including mine. That's just the nature of magic. And for a few seconds, everything was perfect."

He shakes his head, his mouth tightening like he's trying not to cry. "But I am a coward, and I couldn't let myself trust you. I thought you were trying to trick me, that you were working with my enemy. I made you leave. And then she told me that you died and like a fool I believed her. But the whole time she was the one who had you locked up. And for the next thirty years, I had one more reason to hate myself. And then one day… there you were again."

He falls silent, and she doesn't press for more. She knows enough of what happened between them in the past several months to fill in the blanks. His eyes are dark, like his very soul is heavy from carrying the weight of the world for lifetimes.

She's glad to know the story, even if it is only that to her – a story – and even if it is a painful one for him. "Sounds like challenges aren't exactly new to our relationship," she murmurs with a slightly awkward grin.

He laughs humorlessly, shaking his head. "No, they are not." He sighs, and rests his forehead against his hands on his cane. "I'm not a good man, Belle." He speaks the words so quietly she has to strain to make them out.

Something in what he says – his voice or the words themselves – pains her, pulls on her soul in a way she never wants to feel again. Things have not been easy between them, but she has seen _some_ good in him at least. He seems sweet, and kind underneath all his layers and defenses. She obviously grew to love him before – there must be something loveable within him.

"Then why did I fall in love with you?"

"I truly have no idea."

"Well… I'm still glad I came here with you. For what it's worth." He smiles a little at that. It's a humorless, sad smile, but at least it's something.

She looks down at the bubbles, not nearly as thick as they were a while ago. Small patches of empty water have started to form. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and discovers that the pads of her fingers have grown wrinkled and turned nearly white. "What's this?" she asks, showing him.

He takes her hand and pulls it close to him. He caresses her fingertips gently, examining the skin. "Nothing to worry about. It happens when you're in the water for a long time."

"Maybe it's time I get out."

"Yes. Well then, I'll leave you to it."

"You don't have to," she says, not feeling very shy at all. "I mean, you've… _we've_… before, haven't we? It's not like you haven't seen me before?"

"Well… yes, but…" He seems to have no real protest, and she shrugs. "If you wish, I suppose."

He stands and unfolds the warm towel, holding it up for her to step into. She stands slowly, her heart racing. He holds the towel high and stares at the wall, not looking at her even though even though her body is on display, easily seen. She steps into the towel, and he wraps it around her shoulders, only looking at her when she is covered. She hopes he is only shy, and not that he finds her unappealing to look at.

He holds her arms as he helps her step out of the tub. Her foot misses the rug, and she slides a little on the slick tile. He catches her before she can lose her balance, his arms wrapping around her back and holding her flush against his body. Her mind stutters to a stop at that, unable to focus on anything but being in his arms. In that moment, she suddenly feels so very safe and warm and cared for and –

-and as quickly as he caught her, he lets her go, her feet holding steady on the ground. He flutters his hands over her sides, not really touching her, and backs away, looking anywhere but her face. He looks like he wants to say something, but instead just reaches down to drain the water, and leaves as quickly as he can, muttering that he'll leave her to change.

She stands there for a long minute, dripping wet and staring at the closed door, before she nearly collapses on the seat. Her body is all but _humming_ with sensation, the moment so familiar, his touches leaving her with a sense of longing for something she once knew, the memory of his brief touches and gentle embrace tingling beneath her skin. It was all over too soon, and in that moment she wants nothing more in all the world than to be wrapped in his arms again. Sensations rush in her all at once, his arms, his fingers against her neck, her wrist her hand, his touch on her back, the hot water washing over her breasts and back and legs, together all at once and driving her wild. The vague sense of longing that has been growing in her for days makes sense.

For all that they say she has known more, her only memories are of unknown eternities lying alone in a cold, hard cell, rough linens against her skin, infrequent cold showers, and now these scant weeks wandering the world at arm's length from everyone. For all that they tell her otherwise, the only gentle, caring human contact she knows were his chaste hands on her tonight. This nagging that has been bothering her is nothing more simple or more devastating that the desire for a human touch. She _needs_ to be touched.

And yet here she sits, alone, and the only person who might be capable of giving her what she needs ran off after a mere moment holding her in his arms.


End file.
